


Watch The Time Go

by thatzodiacsky



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Alisha (mentioned) - Freeform, Edna (mentioned) - Freeform, Gen, Muse (mentioned), Zaveid (mentioned)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 20:03:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9200240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatzodiacsky/pseuds/thatzodiacsky
Summary: When it comes to losing people, Lailah is the expert. Mikleo could use a little more practice.





	

In retrospect, the fact that Muse’s staff lasted over two hundred years before breaking was a miracle in itself, especially considering it probably wasn’t meant to be used as a club. It was very impressive, really, Mikleo thought numbly to himself, gaze on the fractured pieces in his lap.

Across from him, Lailah tended to the fire, drawing sparks and embers from dry twigs and kindling to ward off the gathering dusk.  The light made her fingertips glow pink, as if she were shining from the inside.  Maybe she was.  To Lailah, building campfires always seemed to be part skill and familiarity and part magic, but it was impossible to tell the exact ratio.

Her current shepherd, a serious and earnest girl, was off in the bushes trying to catch them something for dinner. They had enough supplies for she at least to eat, and of course Mikleo and Lailah didn’t actually need food to survive, but she had been adamant. Mikleo figured she would be out there for awhile; this area was almost devoid of woodland life. He’d tried to tell her that, too, but she’d been so determined to feed their little group that she’d gone anyway.

Mikleo could tell Lailah felt bad for him, half because she was avoiding eye contact, and half because she kept humming as she arranged sticks and bundles of grass with quick and decisive movements. Mikleo wondered if she felt guilty about the staff breaking.  He wouldn’t have been in this area in the first place if Lailah hadn’t turned up on his doorstep to request his services as a guide. It was true that he was an expert on these particular ruins, having documented them extensively in the sixth volume of his published studies, even if that had been a couple of years ago.  He had no real reason to revisit the area, but it was difficult to say no to Lailah, despite his personal policy against traveling with shepherds.

Everything had been fine at first. Lailah had watched him like a hawk when she introduced him to her shepherd, who’d clasped his hand and thanked him solemnly for his assistance in this matter.  If anything, she’d reminded him of Alisha, and they’d buried her over a hundred years ago. It was fine. He was fine.

He’d been fine as they journeyed to the grove where travelers had unearthed the entrance a handful of decades ago. Despite the years that had passed since he’d last been here, he’d mapped the area often enough that it took no effort to direct them down the proper passageways.  The monster infestation was worse lately, but that had stopped worrying him as much as it once did. It always seemed to ebb and flow, anyway.  Lailah insisted that overall it had gotten better, and he had no reason to disbelieve her.

The three of them had made quick work of the first few beasts they’d encountered, and it wasn’t until they were much deeper in the tunnels that they’d messed up.  Well, really, he’d messed up-- They’d been surrounded, and he’d used the staff to block while casting, not expecting it to get wedged in the maw of a ten foot centipede-like creature. He’d struggled to pull it loose, but--

_Crack!_

Mikleo was shaken from his thoughts as the fire snapped and popped. Lailah laughed, waving sparks away from her face as though they were as harmless as flower petals.

“There, that will do us nicely for a few hours at the least,” she said, sitting back on her heels with a small smile.  Finally, she raised her gaze to meet Mikleo’s, and in her eyes he saw not guilt but sympathy. His fingers tightened on the fragments in his lap. Such a small movement, and yet of course Lailah saw it.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she said. He couldn’t remember when she’d started calling him that.  Long enough that he didn’t protest anymore.  “I don’t think we’ll be able to fix it.”

“I know that,” he replied, clinging to the remains despite his words. “I just--”

He looked down. He knew he didn’t have an excuse for being so sentimental about this, a couple of chunks of wood and metal.  Instead of pressing the matter, Lailah patted the patch of forest floor next to her.

“Come sit by me. No, face the other way,” she added as Mikleo circled the fire and then lowered himself to sit at her side.  Confused, he turned away from her but looked back over his shoulder in time to see her produce a comb from the folds of her sleeve.

He faced forward again and felt a soft tugging as she threaded the comb into the curls at the tips of his hair.  She worked out a tangle with slow, gentle movements.  She’d stopped humming awhile ago, so the only noise was the hiss and crackle of the flames.  Even the sound of Lailah’s shepherd crashing about in the bushes had faded away several minutes ago.  Mikleo was glad. Somehow, being like this felt childish and vulnerable, and he was relieved that from this position Lailah couldn’t see his face. A near stranger seeing him like this would be infinitely worse.

As he was thinking that, she spoke.  “It’s a lesson we all learn sooner or later,” she said, voice soft.  “Humans don’t last. Things don’t last much longer. “

Mikleo wanted to protest. There were all kinds of things that lasted, things that he’d made it his life’s worth to study and document.  But before he could speak he remembered with dismay dismissing a stone tablet the other day for being only a hundred years old.  When he was a child, a hundred years had seemed like an eternity. Now, a hundred years were nothing.  

In the eyes of his seraphim friends, he was still just a baby, much as he hated that fact. How would he feel about a hundred years when he was Lailah’s age? He swallowed, deciding to hold his tongue.

Well, for the most part. Rather than disagree, instead he blurted,

“That’s not fair.”

Lailah laughed, a sweet and twinkling noise.  She was parting his hair now, arranging the strands delicately.

“No, it’s not. And I wish I could tell you differently, but it doesn’t ever hurt less.”

As far as Mikleo could remember, this was the most candid and open talk he’d ever had with Lailah about this sort of thing, without every topic being couched in cutesy metaphors and puns.  Maybe she too found it easier with him facing away, unable to see her facial expression.

“You just get better at dealing with it,” she continued.  “Or you withdraw from humanity, or you live a wanderer’s life, avoiding connections and ties.”  

She didn’t have to say it for Mikleo to recognize their friends in her words. He thought she might be projecting a bit, though. He highly doubted that Edna kept it to herself because she found it too heartbreaking to care about humans.

He was afraid Lailah was about to ask him which he’d choose, so he fumbled to change the subject.  “Isn’t she taking a little long?” he asked, looking off into the shadowy shapes of the underbrush.  It was dark by now, and the fire only illuminated so much.

“Who, Amelia?” Lailah said, and Mikleo felt a pang of guilt for not bothering to remember her name. “She should be alright.”

Now that Mikleo had gotten them on this topic he didn’t know what to say. He flapped his mouth noiselessly for a moment before managing, “She’s… nice.”

Lailah giggled.  “She is, isn’t she? I quite like her. But then…” she paused, before adding in a faux cheery voice, “I love all my shepherds.”

Well, Mikleo didn’t have anything to say to that, and was immediately distracted by Lailah reaching around his waist.  He thought for a moment she was going for a hug, and instinctively tensed up, but was relieved when her aim turned out to be a length of leather cord that had previously been wrapped around Muse’s staff.  She plucked it away from the wood, and then her hands disappeared again.  There was a slight pressure at the base of his skull like she was tugging on his hair again, and then she clapped her hands together.  “There we go!”

They had no mirrors with them, so Mikleo conjured a flat disk of water in midair so he could see his reflection, and noticed with pride that Lailah seemed startled. A smug grin tugged at the corner of his mouth; he never would have been able to control water with such precision back when they traveled together. He’d been improving a lot, recently.

But he could only preen for so long before realizing what Lailah had done with his hair.  She’d braided it over one shoulder and tied the end with the length of leather she’d taken from Muse’s staff.

“Just like your mother,” Lailah pointed out, as though he didn’t have eyes to see for himself.

He hoped the way his vision wobbled was just because of the water in his grasp shifting.

“I--” he said, throat dry. He swallowed. “I’m not sure it suits me.” Her face fell, and he hastened to add, “You’re right that I should tie it up, though!”

He’d been thinking the same himself, recently, ever since he’d decided that getting his hair cut was too much of a bother. Zaveid had called it a rite of passage, saying every seraphim came to that conclusion eventually.  Edna had called them both disgusting and said something about how all you had to do was will your hair to stop growing.  She’d said ‘even a baby could do it’, but Mikleo was already doing everything he could not to grow. He didn’t have attention to spare for his hair.

Lailah made a thoughtful noise, loosing his hair from the braid and taking up the comb again.   Mikleo waited, fiddling with one of the white and orange feathers from his mother’s staff.  He should at least keep this, somehow, even if he’d have to dispose of the other fragments eventually.  It was affixed to the end of yet another one of those leather cords, and he disentangled it from the others before looping the cord around his waist and knotting it neatly.  The idea of having a keepsake did dull the pain of throwing the staff away, at least a little bit.

Lailah didn’t comment on what he was doing with the feather, but after several minutes she made a triumphant noise, signifying she was done. He raised the mirror of water again, taking in the sight of the two of them. This time she’d given him a high ponytail like hers, white hair curling like a waterfall.

“Huh, just like my mother,” he teased, and saw Lailah’s eyes go wide.

“Oh, you--” she started, swatting the back of his head, and he leaned away, laughing, and dropped the blob of water. It hit the ground far too close to their fire, and Lailah hurried to shore up the flames before they dwindled down to nothing.  Mikleo tried to help by drawing the water from the soil and back into his hand, throwing it towards the trees this time.

There was a yelp, and Amelia emerged from the darkness, holding a rabbit and dripping wet.  

“Oh, er, sorry,” Mikleo said, mortified but also trying not to laugh.

Amelia shook her head, dropping to kneel by the fire.  “No, my apologies. I should not have snuck up on the both of you like that.”  It was evident she thought Mikleo had done it because he’d mistaken her for a monster, and neither of them corrected her.

“Pardon me if it’s not my place,” she said after a moment, preparing to clean the rabbit, “but I do think the change of hairstyle looks quite nice.”

A smile crossed Mikleo’s face, and he glanced over at Lailah.  “Thank you. I like it too.”

He hadn’t thrown any of the water Lailah’s direction, but he could have sworn her eyes were wet.  Perhaps it was his imagination. 


End file.
